


"Care" - Oneshot

by WritingWithADinosaur



Category: Marvel, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingWithADinosaur/pseuds/WritingWithADinosaur
Summary: You’re a sort of vigilante in Hell’s Kitchen who knows Daredevil but is closer to the Punisher. So when you come out of a fight more wounded than normal, you go to the only person you can really trust.





	"Care" - Oneshot

**Author's Note:**

> Frank Castle x Reader
> 
> Mentions of Daredevil
> 
> Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color
> 
> Warnings: Cursing, violence, injuries, angst
> 
> ~~~~~~~~
> 
> Not sure if I’m going to let this be part of a sort of universe I have in my head. Like I have a lot of story ideas involving Frankie boy and Matty, and I like the idea of playing with writing the same character in different stories. So I would write some other stories taking place in Hell’s Kitchen with the same characters, but it wouldn’t necessarily be a continuous series that you have to read in a specific order.
> 
> I don’t know if that made any sense, but if it did or if you have questions, feel free to message me or drop an ask in my inbox. I love hearing from you guys!

“Fuckin’ assholes.” You kicked the now lifeless body on the floor in front of you before fixing your wrist piece and leaving the drug hideout.

You’d overheard some details about a major drug developer working in Hell’s Kitchen and had decided to pay them a visit. You hadn’t expect there to be so many attackers or for them to be that tough in a fight, resulting in more injuries scattered across your body than usual.

Somehow, you managed to get back to your apartment in one piece, but you knew you needed help. You took off your mask, collapsed to the cool bathroom tile floor, and pulled your phone out, dialing the one number you had memorized by heart: Frank Castle’s.

~~~~

Hell’s Kitchen had always been sketchy, but shit had been hitting the fan more frequently than usual lately and the police were just sitting on their asses instead of going beyond the minimum effort. So 8 months ago, you’d decided to take a _major_ risk and spend your nights attempting to make your city livable again.

You created a persona inspired by the greek mythological guard dog of the Underworld, Cerberus. You had heard about the other vigilantes already making their impact on the city, but you felt the need help. Not necessarily working with the other vigilantes as a team, but fighting the same fight that other people were too scared to face.

Stolen guns and knives were your main weapons, but you also had years of fighting skills from a rough upbringing and special gloves that you’d made yourself. Your gloves looked like normal, black, fingerless gloves until you whipped out your claws and surprised your attackers. Your signature was a solid set of claw marks across your victims’ right shoulder.

It didn’t take long for your vigilante self to be recognized by the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen. You did as much as you could; whether it was helping someone fight off a mugger, or doing extensive work to bring down gangs, you tried your best.

That’s when you met Daredevil and the one and only Punisher. Daredevil had intervened during one of your jobs before you could end the douchebag’s life, you resorted to leaving your mark and walking away, letting Daredevil take the asshole to the police station, _alive_.

The Punisher was a different and much more enjoyable story.

You made your abusive ex-boyfriend one of your marks, finally showed him a glimpse of the pain he had put you through for years. You had a mask on, so he didn’t know it was you, but it didn’t matter. All that you felt was the adrenaline and overwhelming rush of justice being served zooming through your body. It made your aim a little bit shaky, but you took a breath and steadied yourself.

You dug your heel into his stomach and squatted down to look down at his face. Slowly, you pulled your mask down and revealed your identity to him. You knew he wasn’t making it out alive, so he needed to know that you were getting redemption.

“ _You!_ What the fuc–” You quickly bared your claws and swiped at him to shut him up. He cried out in pain, such a pleasant sound.

“What’s wrong, baby? Does this hurt?” he pitifully nodded. “Aw…” You stuck out your lower lip in a mocking pout before lifting your gun to his forehead. “Suck it up, sweetheart.”

_BANG!_ Silence. Then… _Clapping?_

You turned around to see a man with a white skull on a bulletproof vest leaning against the opposite wall. He was slowly applauding as you stood back up and he met you halfway.

“Well shit, doll. That guy was on _my_ list, but you did good.” You holstered your gun as you got a feel for him; he felt trustworthy, at least enough that he probably wouldn’t attack you right then and there.

“Thanks. Was an ex. Beat the shit out of me for years. Physically and mentally. Decided he needed to go.”

“Sounds well deserved.” He held out his hand. “Frank Castle. You?”

You retraced your claws, saw him watching with a look of amazement, and caution. You took his hand with your now clawless one and gave it a solid shake.

“Cerberus.”

“ _Cerberus_? The fuck kind of name is that for a girl like you?”

And the rest was history.

Fast forward 6 months and you were closer to those boys than you had imagined. Guess the vigilante community was tight knit. While you were friends with both Daredevil and Frank, you couldn’t help but naturally get closer to Frank.

The two of you had a similar understanding when it came to the bastards that you targeted, one that Red couldn’t agree with. The night you killed your ex, you and Frank stopped at a small diner for coffee; there was no way you were getting sleep anyways. You’d ended up talking a lot. The biggest thing he questioned was your name.

When the two of you got closer, he told you about Operation Cerberus and Kandahar. He thought it would drive you away, but it did the opposite. You were now each other’s go-to for anything. Hence why you were calling him at 2:17AM while laying on your bathroom floor.

You really felt all of your wounds now, the adrenaline of tonight’s work wearing off. The phone rang twice before you heard the familiar gruffy voice.

“Yeah?”

“So, you know that group with the drug house out close to the docks?”

“Yeah. What about ‘em?”

“Well, that house may be demolished now.” You heard him audibly inhale and release a deep sigh. He worried about you doing any high-risk jobs by yourself, so you could only imagine the frustration he was feeling now.

“(Y/N)… You’re not calling to brag, are you?” You couldn’t help but let out a painful chortle, applying pressure to a nasty cut on your side.

“No. As much as I’d like to, that’ll have to wait until I’m not stuck on my bathroom floor. I–” You didn’t have to say anything else. Frank was up and moving. You could hear him getting a bag together, probably first aid stuff.

“What do you mean? You know what– Nevermind. I’m headin’ over.”

“Please and thank you.” And with that, he hung up and you passed out.

You were woken up by Frank’s hands lightly slapping your cheek and putting pressure on your side, causing you to groan.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N/N)!” he exhaled. He hadn’t realized how much he was holding his breath until you woke up. You started to move but he stopped you, giving you a look that you hadn’t seen before. All he said was “ _Don’t._ ”

This was next level worry mixed with some frustration and care. This was by far the most dangerous job you’d done by yourself. Frank’s mind was reeling with the possible outcomes if you had made a wrong move tonight. He could have lost you.

There weren’t any words spoken until he was done stitching up your side and the gash on your arm. You stood up and leaned on your bathroom sink, running warm water over a washcloth so you could clean the dried blood and dirt of your face. You hadn’t realized how beat up you actually were. Aside from the two large cuts that Frank stitched, your lip was split in two places, a giant black eye forming, bruising all over your torso, and a multitude of cuts and scrapes covering your body.

As you were inspecting your body, so was Frank. He stood against the wall, making sure you didn’t faint again or something. While he was worried, he couldn’t help but be angry.

“You should have called me.”

“I did.”

“Don’t get smart with me. I meant _before_ shit hit the fan tonight. You knew damn well that it was gonna be a fucking shit show, that it would be difficult for you to take on by yourself. What if–”

You couldn’t help but get angry at that last part. You hit your hand against the sink and threw the washcloth into the hamper to join your wrecked shirt and other bloodstained washcloths. Turning around, you leaned again on the sink for support and faced him.

“ _Oh!_ But if it was _you, you_ could handle it by yourself? I’m just a weak, little bitch. Is that it? Cause I’m not the big, bad Punisher? I can’t handle myself? Cause I–”

Frank grabbed your face with one hand and shut you up. He had never been violent towards you, and this wasn’t malicious. It was just surprising. As soon as he realized what he had done, he let go of you and stepped back, huffing out a quiet “ _goddamnit._ ” He took a moment and then spoke in a low voice laced with what you could only describe as a little bit of pain.

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“What _did_ you mean then?” you asked as you turn back around to the sink. Your hands were caked in grime and you needed to get everything off.

You tried to fight the shaky feeling throughout your body and leaned more on the sink for balance, but Frank saw your struggle. He stood behind you and wrapped an arm around you from behind, making sure to avoid the new stitches. He was still upset, but he had gotten the anger out. You continued to wash your hands and arms while he talked.

“I meant, I care about what happens to you. More than you care about yourself apparently.” Before you could say anything, he kept going. “I know that’s hypocritical, but shut up and let me explain.” You looked at him through the mirror and raised your eyebrows, signaling or him to continue.

“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I didn’t think I could actually give a shit about another person after Maria and the kids. But here I am.”

It took a second for you to really realized what he had just said. In his own way, _Frank just admitted that he loved you._ You knew he would probably never say the _exact_ three words, but this was close enough.

You turned off the faucet and slowly turned around, his arm staying around you in fear of you not being stable enough to support yourself. You slowly lifted a hand to his face, sliding over a cut on his cheekbone that wasn’t fully healed yet. Without any further hesitation, the two of you leaned in and kissed. But before anything got too heated, your body decided to send a wave of pain through your leg. It caused you to droop a little bit, but Frank was right there to catch you.

“I gotcha. You gotta go lay down.” He easily picked you up and sat you on your bed. He pulled out some clean clothes for you before squatting down in front of you and taking your hands in his.

“I’m gonna get you some food and water. You get dressed and lay down. Alright?” You just nodded and felt a small smile on your face. “Good.” He kissed your hand and then leaned to kiss your forehead before heading to the kitchen.

You knew having Frank in your life was going to be difficult from the moment he introduced himself. But you couldn’t be happier to have him by your side.


End file.
